It is odd to compare a person to an inanimate object.
Yet are some objects indeed inanimate?

A book? A tree? A candle?
None of them breathing, but all living in one way.

A book, characters roaming the pages and running through chapters…
Living a life untouched, unheard of, yet to be discovered.

A tree, growing each and everyday…
Stretching many arms to greet the sun in the early summer sky.

A candle, bright and warm…
Energetic, the flame flickering like long grasses in a summer’s breeze.

It is not uncanny to compare ourselves to insentient beings.
For they are living, just not breathing.